


what pretty boys are made of

by angelcult



Category: SK8 the Infinity (Anime)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional Manipulation, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, Human Trafficking, Hurt No Comfort, Kidnapping, Love/Hate, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Poisoning, Sadistic Hasegawa Langa, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:28:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29582367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelcult/pseuds/angelcult
Summary: There is darkness and then there is the absence of light — Langa is somewhere in between, while he navigates death, blood and a man he hates.
Relationships: Hasegawa Langa/Shindo Ainosuke | Adam
Comments: 3
Kudos: 76





	what pretty boys are made of

**Author's Note:**

> Most of everything in the tags is described graphically so please keep that in mind before reading, thank you!

Spitting bloody saliva into the other man’s face, Langa smiled cruelly, blood staining his teeth, blue eyes so lifeless they almost look grey under the dull lights overhead. 

Shindō didn’t react, just reached into his pocket and produced a handkerchief to wipe it away, smiling down at Langa softly, as if amused or endeared by the boy’s anger.

“Langa, is it so hard to just listen to me?”

“I’d rather fucking die, you bi-“ Shindō roughly grabbed the boy’s chin, yanking him forward as much as he could with the other tied to a chair, eyebrows raising.

“Ah, ah, ah,” He tutted, shaking his head just slightly. “Don’t say something we’d regret now, Langa.” 

Shindō said his name like it was sweet, like one would say  _ cake  _ or  _ candy,  _ as if Langa is his lover or wife and not the kidnapped boy he bought for a pretty penny. 

“Oh, yes, let’s pretend we’re a  _ happy couple,  _ hm? Well, fuck you! I hate you! You went through all this,  _ all this,  _ and I still hate you,  _ Ainosuke, _ ” Langa spat his name like it was a bitter poison, nose wrinkling and his eyes full of wild anger, but a recklessness that would have scared anyone in their right mind. 

It was fortunate that in that moment neither of them were.

Langa’s laugh was a cackling and cruel thing, twisted and bent out of shape compared to his once soft and gentle one. 

“What’ll it be this time,  _ darling,  _ rape? A little waterboarding? You gonna  _ starve me?  _ I think you’re running out o- Mmph!” 

Shindō’s mouth was hungry and sharp against Langa’s, kissing him hard and deep, licking away blood with every swipe of his tongue, the hand on Langa’s jaw keeping him in place.

Langa bit down on Shindō’s tongue, pressing hard into the kiss when he felt the man’s hot blood spill into his mouth, sucking at the wound left behind. Shindō laughed into the kiss, pulling away to stare down at the other.

He had blood painting his lips like macabre lipstick, a mix of both from their wounds, a matching bite on a pair of tongues from one set of teeth. The feel of Shindō’s flesh breaking had sent a jolt of misplaced heat through Langa that he ignored in favour of licking Shindō’s blood from the corner of his mouth, swallowing it along with a mouthful of his own. 

“Is it so hard to admit that you want this?” Shindō asks softly, mimicking Langa with a drag of his tongue across his lips, licking their blood away. 

“I don’t want  _ this.  _ I have never wanted this.”

“Then is it hard to admit that we’re so similar?”

Langa chuckled breathlessly but it was mirthless, empty eyes looking off to the corner of his head where he shook his head.

“I never wanted this.” He repeated in lieu of a proper response.

* * *

_ His mind is fuzzy with mold and deterioration, he’s so drugged up he can’t tell his left from his right. Langa’s vision blurs even when he’s sitting still and the walls are laughing at him.  _

_ The walls laugh and laugh and bet on what’s going to happen to him. _

_ One wall thinks he’s going to get sold to a red room, murdered in the worst of ways on a live feed for the other filth of the world to watch, one thinks he’ll be tossed aside and used as a testing doll. _

“My money’s on some sick bastard cutting him open and using him to smuggle drugs.”

“Really? I still think he’ll end up in a red room.. Pretty boy like him. A lot of sickos would pay to see his guts getting ripped out. Fuck knows what they’ll do to his body after.”

_ If he could feel more than the weightlessness that pervaded his body, maybe he’d be sick or scared or any number of reasonable reactions but what use was being angry at the walls, for God’s sake? _

_ Langa tilted his head and leaned against something warm and shaking, eyes slipping closed. _

_ He’s so tired.. _

* * *

Dinner goes uneaten, Langa’s tongue is too sore and bruised for him to do much more than sip at a cup of water that was thankfully free of poisons or aphrodisiacs. Shindō wasn’t fond of them, though that didn’t stop him from using them when he sicked his dogs on him. 

Cruel men made up Shindō Ainosuke’s personal security, they left bruises and blood in their wake, especially when their master was kind enough to toss them his plaything.

Langa’s eyes glazed over.

* * *

_ He kicked and screamed, hitting his fists against the door even when it started to bruise his fragile skin. He screamed until his throat was raw and he tasted iron with every breath.  _

_ Langa eventually slumped against the door, dry sobs leaving him as he slid down to his knees, forehead resting against the wood as he struggled to catch his breath even without the tears.  _

_ His nails had painful splinters beneath them, leaving them chipped and bloody, smeared red handprints against white paint as he pretended he didn’t hear the men laughing behind him. _

_ He’d counted six. Six men who were larger than the underfed and scared boy before them, all of their eyes leering at him even when his pale hair was limp and his eyes were bruised beneath from nights of fitful sleep.  _

_ Turning and pushing his back against the door, Langa’s mind oversaturated as hands touched him, a coordinated attack that left him confused and unable to properly fight back. _

_ Hands on his wrist, something cold and metal digging into his temple, another ripping away his clothes.  _

_ “I think he wants it,” one says. “Look at how hard he’s shaking.” Cruel and laughing, the gun taps him teasingly against his head, and then he— _

_ Hands places they shouldn’t be, his mouth being forced open, his legs splayed so wide the muscles in them are trembling and pulling painfully, spit slicked fingers, inside of him,  _ inside,  _ and then something bigger and far more painful. _

_ He remembers crying, he remembers gagging and spitting up bitter and disgusting cum, remembers hearing  _ “shit, he tore”  _ as something warm ran down his legs. _

_ When it’s over, and he’s left alone to climb to his feet with only the help of the wall and sheer will, he can only stare at the pink, red and white that stains his broken and fragile body. _

_ He hates the weak boy he sees in the mirror. Promises himself under the guise of determination to be better, to be  _ stronger,  _ but he knows it’s because he felt something irreversible in himself break. _

* * *

“We have a new boy.” Shindō tells him as he makes Langa sit at the vanity so that he can brush his hair, pampering him as if he didn’t black his eye yesterday, not that Langa never got even.

Shindō wanted him to break, because he was the type of man who liked to break pretty things open. He got off on fear and blood, dissecting angels with his rusted scalpels, his sharp teeth were a warning, he was the devil in the details. It was unfortunate that Langa didn’t fear him, and enjoyed trampling over his narrative.

“We.” Langa repeated softly, shaking his head slowly. “You act like we’re something.” 

If the brush bears down a little harder the next few strokes, the albino relishes in it, if only because he knows he’d gotten his nails under Shindō’s skin. 

Maybe he was right, maybe they  _ are _ more alike than he wants them to be. 

* * *

The  _ boy _ turned out to be  _ boys,  _ plural. One was a redhead and the other was a younger boy,  _ too  _ young really, he couldn’t have been more than thirteen while the other looked to be closer to Langa in age.

They were handcuffed with their ankles bound in the middle of the foyer as Langa and Adam descended down the stairs. He knew they must look a sight, with Langa’s black eye and the tightly bound black collar around his throat. He was sure he looked horrid, especially to those who hadn’t had time to grow used to his deteriorating appearance. 

The boys were scared, Langa could see it in the way they just barely trembled, trying to force their bodies still. 

“There’s two.” Langa says when they’re standing in front of them, avoiding the young boy’s eyes. He couldn’t stop the guilt that ate at him.

“How old is he?” Langa asks, looking towards one of the guards. When he receives no response other than a barely concealed sneer of disgust, that untamed anger flares up in his chest, always kindling and near impossible to put out.

“Answer my damn question!” He snaps, and he sees the slight nod Shindō gives the man out the corner of his eyes, though he opts to pretend he didn’t.

“Thirteen. A bit young for you, right?”

Langa swallows hard, something like embarrassment prickling at his cheeks. 

“Aren’t  _ I  _ too young for you, Lewis? Or would you like another go?”

The man glares at him, but Langa just gives him that biting smile he knows looks as bitter as he feels before he turns back to the boys. 

“He’s thirteen, Shindō, why is he here?” He ignores the way both of the boys stare at him, as if unsure of what to make of him. He understood, he didn’t know who he was anymore, he didn’t know what to make of himself either. 

“He’s for you, a gift.”

“... a gift.” Langa repeats, staring at the black-haired boy. He’s wearing a tattered green and purple cat hoodie, it even had a little tail attached to it, his neck had bruises around it. The shorts he wore were torn, Langa saw bruises crawling up behind the fabric and he turned his head away. He knew the pain was showing on his face, but he couldn’t stop it. As impenetrable as he tried to make himself, the thought of this  _ child- _

“Take them to my room.”

When they’re pulled away, the redhead is screaming at the guard in a way that reminds Langa of his own screams. He flinches at the sound of skin against metal and then it’s silent. 

“Do you like them?” Shindō asks, and Langa slaps him, the sound of flesh on flesh echoes throughout the room, and Langa is promptly slammed back against the wall, both of them meeting in a harsh kiss, Langa’s teeth cutting into Shindō’s lips before the kiss was broken and they glared into each other’s eyes, so close that they were sharing each other’s breath, Langa could smell the man’s mint toothpaste.

“Let those boys go.”

“No, I bought them for you. So you aren’t so lonely when I’m gone for work.”

“That one- he’s just a  _ child,  _ he’s only thirteen-“

Langa stopped talking once he realised that his words weren’t reaching Shindō, his lips turning down in a frown.

“What if I say I don’t want them?”

“I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them right in front of you,” Shindō breathed, crowding in closer, his hips against Langa’s, his cock was hard in his trousers.

“I’ll have that black-haired brat raped to death and I’ll make the redhead shoot himself.” 

Langa turned his face away from the other’s, tears pooling in his eyes though he blinked them away. He wouldn’t give Shindō the pleasure of letting them spill down his cheeks. The man pressed a kiss to his neck when he didn’t respond, teeth sinking into a hickey left behind from his wandering mouth. 

Moaning softly, Langa shifted away, raising his hands and pushing Shindō away, holding his hands against his chest to prevent him from getting any closer. The man hummed softly before he stepped back, fixing his clothes. There was a bright red mark on his cheek from Langa’s slap, they never went unscathed when they were near each other. 

“Go check on your boys.”

Langa almost bristled at the order before he straightened up, tilted his chin up slightly and relaxed his shoulders, a regal but wounded peacock, walking past Shindō briskly, pretending he didn’t feel the man’s eyes on his body. 

He found them in his room, huddled in a corner that was facing the door. The redhead had wrapped the boy up in his arms, keeping him close, eyeing Langa warily. 

Shutting the door behind himself and leaning against it, Langa gave them an apologetic look.

“There’s no lock, I’m sorry.”

Fire flared in the other boy’s eyes and his grip tightened on the little boy, eyes staring so deeply into Langa’s that he had to look away.

“‘There’s no lock’? That’s all you have to say, that’s it-“

“What else can I say,” Langa starts, as he walks over and sits on the edge of the bed nearest the boys, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees while his hands dangle in the “V” of them.

“That could change what’s happened? Hm? I’m-I’m  _ sorry-“ _

“That man said we were a gift for you. What did he mean?” The boy asked and Langa shook his head.

“That  _ man  _ is Shindō Ainosuke, and if I were you, I’d remember it. He.. He’s dangerous, okay? He’s dangerous and he’d hurt you or your friend or me if you don’t respect him, do you understand?”

“What did he  _ mean? _ ” He repeated. Langa shook his head, looking away briefly before looking back.

“I’m as much a prisoner as you two. Nothing I do.. I don’t have a choice, or wants or needs. I’m just their plaything.” Too many feelings to understand flooded Langa’s chest, but he pushed it down. He was adept at that, ignoring the feelings that ate at him when he was left alone with them. He knew it was his fault, in some way, that they were there in front of him instead of home or at school, and the guilt was crawling back up his throat again.

“What are your names?” Knowing their names humanised them, it made them real and harder to forget.

The redhead looks like he’s biting back words as he introduces himself.

“I’m Reki and this is Miya.” 

Langa nods slowly, commits their names to memory. It’ll hurt more this way when they’re gone, to have spoken to them, to have formed even half of a bridge with them. 

“My name’s Langa.”

At the mention of his name, Reki’s eyebrows shot up and his eyes went wide.

“You-  _ you’re  _ Hasegawa Langa?”

Something cold settles in Langa’s stomach as he sits up straighter, narrowing his eyes at the boy.

“Yes.”

“Oh my God, I- They’re looking for you, the police,  _ everyone,  _ your mom-“

“Shut up!” Langa snapped, standing up and storming away, spinning sharply his heel to complete the circuit of a small circle as he paced.

“They aren’t looking for me.”

“They a-“

“They aren’t looking for me!” He yells at him, hands going to his hair, tugging hard. Memories of his mother flooded him, the ones he’d kept carefully locked away behind lock and key only for them to be broken out in seconds. 

“They aren’t looking, they stopped looking..” He whispered to himself, sinking to the floor, burying his head between his knees as his grip periodically tightened or loosened in his hair.

“They stopped looking, I died, I died so they stopped looking..”

He can feel them watching him but he can’t find it in himself to feel embarrassed or ashamed, he can only feel the familiar grip of panic lacing up his spine.

He remembers his mother, he misses her, he’s always missed her, he just-

_ I’m dead,  _ he reminded himself,  _ I’m dead so what does it matter? _

* * *

Reki didn’t mention the police or Langa’s ongoing case after that, but his suspicion was replaced with a look of pity that filled Langa’s mouth with the taste of ashes every time he saw it. Miya didn’t speak at all, and Langa attributed it to whatever assault had occurred before he’d arrived. 

Langa kept the boys shut in his room, ordering them to push something heavy in front of it until he got back. It was only the only way to keep them safe even though it wasn’t a foolproof plan by any means. At least it kept the guards out, although Langa knew the “peace” wouldn’t last.

It never did.

  
  


“Look at them, Langa, show them that you’re just our bitch.” A hand laced through his hair before yanking his head back, forcing him to briefly meet the boys’ eyes before he closed them as pain shot through him.

He could feel blood seeping into his sheets, could hear his own pained grunts and moans. It was humiliating more than it hurt, or perhaps it was the humiliation that made it sting brighter and longer. Langa could only hope they didn’t hurt the boys when they were done with him.

His head was forced to the side and he pursed his lips, only opening it when a gun was hit against the side of his head and he cried out, choking harshly as a cock was forced down his throat, cutting out space where it wasn’t welcome.

Blood was slowly oozing down his temple and forehead as Langa closed his eyes. He didn’t have a happy place, he didn’t think of safety or warmth, he always stayed present during every attack on his body. He wanted to remember their faces and names, so that when it came time for penance to be paid, he’d have their name in his little black book.

He could hear Miya crying as Reki shushed him, he hoped they weren’t looking even if they could still hear.

When they were done, they’d tossed Langa’s broken body aside. He curled up into a ball, crying out softly when he felt something pull that shouldn’t have. 

Having him incapacitated was the only incentive needed before they dragged Miya off to the bathroom and kept one man outside with a gun trained on Reki and Langa.

“Ricky,” Langa pleaded, forcing himself up but his body collapsed back onto the bed, his legs weak, he knew they wouldn’t hold his weight. They’d been rougher on him than normal.

“Ricky, don’t let them hurt him, he’s just a baby, he’s just a  _ baby,  _ Ricky, don’t-“

“Shut up, whore.”

A scream sounded from the other side of the door and it was enough to assuage Reki’s fear of the gun as he ran for it, getting caught around the waist and slammed into the wall. The gun catches him around the apple of his cheek, slicing it open before he’s punched hard enough in the stomach to make him gag up stomach acid. He crumbles into a heap on the floor, curling in on himself as Ricky rests a foot on his neck. The man looks back at Langa.

He’s shaking, looking pathetic with cum and blood still leaking from his body, bruises covering him while dried blood plasters his hair to the side of his face. 

“Don’t kill him.” He whispers softly. “Don’t kill him, please.”

The man grants him that one mercy, even as they listen to the broken sympathy of Miya’s screaming cries.

If Langa had had a watch, he would have known that they were in the bathroom for five minutes before it went worryingly quiet, and five minutes more before the door opened as they left out, the scent of blood and salt following them. 

One of them gives Langa an exaggerated wink as they all leave. The door slams shut behind them, echoing in Langa’s ears as he forces himself from the bed, falling and catching himself on the side of it as he finds himself only able to crawl into the room.

Reki is just managing to force himself upright when he hears a scream from the bathroom. It’s Langa, he  _ knows  _ it’s Langa, but it’s so terrifying and painful that Reki goes completely still.

_ “No, no, no,- _ “ He whispers, using the wall to stand as he limps to the bathroom, an arm curled around his middle as he stumbles into the en suite.

It’s large enough for a large sunken tub and a stand up shower, but his eyes aren’t on that, they’re on the small body that Langa is wailing over. His hands are covered in blood that Reki knows isn’t his own, and the boy can only sink to the floor in the doorway.

“Miya,  _ Miya,  _ oh God, no, no, God no..” He repeated the words over and over again. 

Then, as if sadness wasn’t enough to accompany what Langa was feeling, he forced himself to his feet, stumbling out past Reki. He heard the shuffling of fabric and then the slamming of a door.

Reki didn’t look at Miya’s body— couldn’t. He didn’t want to know what he’d see. 

He stared at the wall for what felt like five minutes but could have been more as angry yelling grew louder and louder until the door was slamming open again.

Langa limped in wearing a pair of dark pants that weren’t buttoned and a shirt that was hanging open, his eyes red from his crying. It made him look even more gaunt and sickly, and when his eyes landed on Miya’s body all he could do was shake his head.

“They killed him, Shindō, they took him and they..” Reki realised then that they weren’t alone, the dark-haired man was standing behind Langa, watching him with an expression somewhere between arousal and pain. It was an odd mix, and it made Reki feel sick.

Glancing over, he didn’t mean to  _ look  _ but-

Miya was laying in a pool of his own blood, eyes staring at nothing. Tear tracks could be seen on his paling skin, he was completely naked and the blood seemed to be coming from his head and between his legs. Where Langa’s bleeding was worrisome, Miya’s was  _ horrific. _

It completely covered his lower half, over his thighs and stomach, some of it pink where it was mixed with spend.

Reki slapped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from vomiting, swallowing it back hard even though it came right back up his throat. 

“What do you want me to do, Langa? They were your boys. You were supposed to take care of them.” Shindō explained gently, as if talking about a mere pet.

“Those are your men.” Langa started, staring at the man. “I don’t care what they do to me, I don’t  _ care,  _ but they- they killed him, Shindō, they-“

Reki watched the man gather Langa into his arms, and the boy broke down again, sobbing into his chest as he sunk to his knees. Shindō shushed him softly, rubbing up and down his back.

Looking over Langa’s head, Shindō smiled coldly at Reki, winking before he turned away and soothed the sobbing boy in his arms.

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to kill them. I want them dead, I want-“ He inhaled sharply, gasping hard as he started breath too quickly and then too slowly. Langa went quiet after and when Shindō looked down, he found him passed out in his arms.

The man chuckled softly, shaking his head and kissing the top of his head as if he wasn’t in a bathroom that smelled like sex and blood with a dead body behind himself.

“Reki.” They locked eyes, Reki’s amber eyes wide with fear and disgust, but he obediently kept quiet. “You’ll watch him, won’t you?”

* * *

_ Shindō didn’t starve him often, only when he thought he needed to teach him a lesson. The restricting of food was meant to motivate him into behaving, but all it did was open the gate for more vitriol. _

_ It forced Langa to learn to adapt with little or no food, drinking enough water to be full but not sick, until Shindō had seen that the boy was too stubborn to submit. _

_ “You’re such a hard one to crack, love.” Shindō said as they sat to eat dinner. It smelled delicious, nearly making Langa’s mouth water as he kept up the pretense of being uninterested. He was sure the hunger showed in his eyes however, he had gone too long without it and even the taste of water was making him sick. _

_ “I hate you.” Langa responded as he picked up his fork to stab at a potato on his plate. He had a feeling the American food was to his advantage even though he was more than proficient at using chopsticks. It made his skin crawl to think of how much Shindō had watched him before he ended up in his possession. _

_ “I love you.” Shindō breathed as Langa took a bite. Flavour bursts across his tongue and he has to stop himself from groaning in pleasure as he paces himself. He eats quickly, but not enough to be rude.  _

_ Shindō watches him the entire time, though it’s not out of the norm. He often watches him, enough that Langa had grown used to it. _

_ Soon, he finds himself having to take a sip of his water but it doesn’t stop the itch he feels in the back of his throat. He’s not allergic to anything, so why would- _

_ Something drips into his glass and he looks down at the red that’s slowly melting away to nothing in his water. Shakily, he reaches up to touch his nose, bringing his back to stare at his fingertips and the blood gathered on them.  _

_ “What did you do?” _

_ He looks up at Shindō and he smiles as glass shatters. _

* * *

Langa stares at his hands as the blood,  _ Miya’s  _ blood, washes away down the drain. His body is gone, the bathroom is spotless and now he is too.

It’s like the boy was never there, even though Langa had seen him in the morning while he slept in their shared bed between himself and Reki.

“Langa?” Shindō called, leaning in to look at him.

“Come on, darling.” Usually, this is where Langa would threaten or snap at him, even a weak “I’m not your darling” for the sake of baring his teeth at the man but he had nothing,  _ felt  _ nothing.

He hadn’t meant to get attached to Miya, there had been safety in solitude and singularity. Then Shindō had to bring that  _ boy  _ in, with his large green eyes and his bruised thighs.

Turning the water off, Langa shakes his hands dry before brushing past the other. He’s dressed in a rendition of his earlier outfit, though it’s being worn properly this time around.

Shindō leads him out to the gardens, all of his men are lined up in a row and Langa can see all of their faces.

Turning towards Shindō, he holds a hand out and the man promptly places a gun in it. Langa sees the men stiffening out of the corner of his eye and he smiles, looking at them with a cruel tilt of the head, holding the gun aloft.

They all shift uncomfortably but none speak as Langa searches their faces, looking for guilt or remorse. He finds none, only apprehension and even a bit of annoyance.

“I'm not very good at remembering faces,” He lied, and now they were all watching him more intently, eyes shifting between his face and Shindō’s gun.

“But I remember-“ He points the gun towards one of the men and pulls the trigger. Blood splatters as the bullet pierces his skull.

* * *

_ Langa hates guns, he hates the noises they make, he hates how dangerous they are. That’s why Shindō’s men like to hold him at gunpoint, they like seeing how scared he is around him. _

_ They like it when he’s  _ powerless.

* * *

“And maybe, you-!” He shot another, sending blood splattering against the roses and pavements beneath their feet, the sound echoing. The men obediently stood in the line, though tensions were higher than when they assumed him to be bluffing. It made the air stuffy even among the flowers.

_ Is that what Shindō meant?,  _ Langa asks himself as he stares at the two men, they’re each missing a chunk of skull, brain and scalp, he can see directly into their heads.  _ He said we were alike, is this why? _

It’s a rush, getting revenge. It’s like a hit of heroin, it’s  _ addicting. _

Two more shots, blood and skull and brain are everywhere and the men look more shaken up than they should at the mere sight of the malnourished boy. 

“One more.” He looks at Ricky, and the man shakes his head just slightly.

“Langa-“

“You wouldn’t help him.” Langa hissed, stepping closer to the man. He was chest to chest with him although he had to tilt his head back slightly to look him in the eyes. He pressed the gun to the bottom of his jaw, watching him subconsciously tense it.

“I was-I was just following or-“ The gun went off and Langa closed his eyes as blood painted his face. The body fell to the ground with a solid thud and Langa stood there for a moment, staring at his body. Nearly his entire head was gone, and somehow, even that didn’t compare to the visceral reaction of seeing Miya’s body.

“It was an order?” He whispered to himself as Shindō settled in behind him, gently prying the gun from his trembling grip.

“It-“

“Langa, look at me.” 

They met eyes and Shindō’s were earnest, they were saddened around the edges.

“Desperate men lie.”

* * *

_ “You’re mine,” Shindō breathes as he holds the squirming boy down. The moment he’d seen Hasegawa Langa, he had wanted him, he had wanted him in a way he couldn’t explain. It felt like love, so therefore it must have been. He’d watched him from afar, taken aback by his effortless beauty and gentleness.  _

_ He didn’t litter, oftentimes could be seen with a skateboard. He smiled softly when he fed pigeons birdseed and he laughed freely with his friends. _

_ The day he’d gone missing had been a painful one for the man, but that was alright, he knew all good things had to come to an end. Except that Shindō was lucky, it was one of the few nights he managed to go to The Underground. _

_ The Underground world is a dark one, it’s like a festering wound that can’t be cleaned, let alone healed. Some people belong there, some were born into it, and others were dragged in by their ankles, kicking and screaming. _

_ The ones that will be searched for but won’t be found, maybe never, maybe years later with no recollection of having ever gone missing. No matter the how or the why, some are just bound to end up there. _

_ Shindō didn’t think Langa would be one of those who ended up there, he belonged in Heaven, not Hell. _

_ His once luscious hair had looked limp and dead and he was smaller where he was shown off like cattle on the stage. The happiness and carefreeness that one filled his frame was gone, replaced by fear and confusion. _

_ Whatever the price, Langa was worth it, Shindō had thought, Langa was worth every cent. _

_ Staring down at the fiery body beneath him, that still rang true. He loved Langa, and he’d do anything to make sure he loved him back. _

* * *

Reki was quiet by Langa’s side as the boy was washed by Shindō. The business man looked unfairly tranquil as he washed the blood away, every now and then, he’d lean in for a kiss that Langa would always return with a bite or sneer.

He didn’t understand them, and he supposed he never would. He knew Langa hated Shindō, he and Miya had seen his fits of rage surrounding the man, but he was also at ease.

He didn’t flinch when he touched him, not like with everyone else, and he often sought him out with his eyes whenever he entered a room.

Whether it was nature or nurture, Reki wasn’t sure, but he knew the look in Shindō’s eyes, and the hesitant one in Langa’s buried beneath the anger and sadness.

Love was a strange and fickle thing, that’s what Reki’s mother had always said, but sometimes it was washing blood away from a kidnapped boy’s cheeks.

It was poison in food, rape on a Sunday morning, it was seventy-five thousand dollars and the death of a boy who was only a pawn.

“I love you,” Shindō whispered against Langa’s lips when he leaned in for another, and for a moment, Langa almost considered saying it back. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I’m a little on the fence about this one but fun fact: this is the second version of this fic written and some of the original script was used.


End file.
